“Who served the food and drink?”
“My niece. Perhaps you might find some answers there, if you sing sweetly enough.”
Ralf’s face grew hot. “I am investigating a murder, not playing minstrel.”
Glaring at the king’s man, the innkeeper growled like an apprehensive dog. “She has yet to kill a man, Crowner, although she might have had cause-one time or another.”
Ralf swallowed a retort.
The man swept the fish back into the basket. “On her way to deliver the fare, she stopped to talk with me. She did not like that I rented the room upstairs to men who pay to swyve Ivetta.” Shrugging, he continued, “Not that I fault her, but the coin was reliable and Ivetta is clean. No one has claimed to have caught any sickness from her. Had anyone complained that they had done so, I would have banned her.”
The crowner nodded.
“While we talked, she put the tray down. Perhaps someone dropped the poison in the food then?”
“Did your niece always serve them?”
“Aye. She knows our inn depends on its reputation for good service given in exchange for good coin. She might not like doing it, but she understands business.”
“Did she say anything later about what she saw that night?”
“I didn’t ask her. Look, my niece has never been happy about this agreement. I do not want to start a quarrel so I never bring it up. See no point in inviting her woman’s squall. Now that Martin’s died, the whoring upstairs is done. It’s one thing to rent a room for a purpose I can turn my back to, but I don’t want the reputation of running a brothel. Ivetta can whore from now on in her own hut, if she can find the custom without her bawd.”
“Whatever you may have wished, your niece chose to confront you about the arrangement anyway. Was that a common practice of hers or had something different happened to cause it that night?”
“Nothing odd. That’s just a woman for you, continuing to argue about settled matters.” Shaking his head, the innkeeper lugged the fish basket over to the door. “These are ready to gut,” he shouted.
A man as tiny as the innkeeper was huge rounded the corner. With ease, he hoisted the basket onto his shoulder and disappeared in the direction of the inn’s cookhouse.
The fish had looked good, Ralf thought, his stomach issuing an appreciative rumble. Maybe he’d return for the evening meal. “Where did your niece put her tray down?” he continued.
“At the table near the door.” The innkeeper waved for the crowner to follow him into the public room, then pointed out the specific place.
“And who passed by while you talked?”
“My back was to it. Ask Signy if you want details.”
“No one was sitting there? On such a busy night?”
“You were near. Why don’t you ask yourself if you remember anyone?”
Ralf walked over to the innkeeper and jabbed a finger into the man’s chest. “Mock and you may find your inn is filled with my men often enough to frighten away anyone with the slightest fear of the king’s justice.”
The man stepped back. “No need, Crowner, no need! I have told the truth. I saw nothing, remember nothing, and am too busy to care what anyone is doing. Were I to notice such things, I might be crowner instead of you.” He yelped as Ralf shoved him. “A jest! ‘Twas a jest!”
Ralf did not step away. His teeth were so close to the innkeeper’s nose he could have bitten it off.
The man bent back as if he feared that was exactly what the crowner had in mind. “For God’s sake, I know nothing more about what happened that night. The harlot screamed. I ran to see what had happened. My niece has told me nothing. Ivetta has lost her bawd and has not returned here. Martin is dead. Business has suffered. What more do you think I can tell you?”
“Hob and Will? Did they quarrel with Martin and did they do so often?”
The innkeeper blinked. “Quarrel? You know the three well enough to answer that yourself. You are all of an age.”
“I have not been here for many months. Things change. Answer me.”
“They haven’t. They fight when they are drunk, and then buy each other ale the next night. Sometimes Will stayed to share Ivetta. That angered Signy more than when Martin had the whore by himself because it meant she must serve refreshments more than once.”
“Were they sharing the whore that night?”
“Martin slipped me extra and ordered more food and wine when they did. I never knew until then. Don’t think it was always planned. That night I knew only that he was with Ivetta, and he died before he could pay me the additional. And he was good about that. He was an honest man about it.”
“How about Ivetta? Did she have any quarrel with the cooper?”
The man laughed. “He never beat her. She ate well enough and drank more. Her clothes were no worse than any harlot might expect. Many wives would be happy with a man like Martin, let alone a woman of her trade. And, unlike a spouse, Ivetta didn’t have to make his clothes or cook his meals. Why would she want to kill him?”
“I’ll be back,” Ralf said. He shook his head in frustration as he walked away.
The innkeeper shouted after him: “When you do, bring some of the king’s coin. Leaving that corpse upstairs cost me two day’s business!”
Chapter Seventeen
Ralf did not get far from the inn. As he stepped out the door, he saw Thomas walking away from him. “Have you visited Hell of late, monk? You look like it,” he shouted at the monk’s back.
Thomas spun around. “I must therefore be grateful that all vanity was forbidden me when I took the tonsure, Crowner.” He cocked his head to one side and studied his friend with much care. “But I fear you have much the same appearance,” he said at last, breaking into a grin. “However, now that I look more closely, I see no difference in your face from the last time we met.”
“It is dusk, monk. When did you begin leaping priory walls at night for bright village joys?”
“I am bringing a sleeping potion to old Tibia and have just delivered dill water to a young mother.” He pointed behind him. “The babe is colicky. Neither she nor her husband sleeps much at night.”
“Are these evening visits Prioress Eleanor’s idea?”
“Sister Anne’s but our prioress saw the charity in it.”
“You say you are visiting old Tibia?”
Thomas nodded.
“Then I will walk with you. I am on my way to see Will the blacksmith.”
“How goes the murder investigation?”
“Slowly enough.”
Thomas nodded in sympathy at the angry edge in the crowner’s voice. “Too many suspects or not enough?”
“In this village, there were few who did not dislike Martin, including me. If someone had taken a cudgel to him at long last, I would not be surprised. What troubles me is the use of poison. Have you heard about that?”
Thomas nodded. “Sister Anne told me. You’d find that a more common method in places other than this fish-reeking coast.”
Ralf chuckled. “Still longing for the stench of London streets, monk? You may have the king’s court, if you want it though. I would not even give a clipped coin for that.”
Thomas shrugged. “All my thoughts of London have faded like a lady’s fine silks in the sun.” That was true enough, but the memory of his rank prison cell had not.
“An interesting image, monk! Many streets are indeed colorful with the effluence of both man and beast, but the sun does not fade the odor.” The crowner slapped Thomas on the shoulder.
“As for the court, I have no experience of it, being a simple monk. We rarely come so close to God’s anointed.” Folding his hands into his sleeves, Thomas looked at the man with affection. “It pleases me to see you laugh.”
They stood together in companionable silence, watching several gray and white mews fly overhead, engaged in raucous avian conversation.
“Back to murder,” Ralf said as they walked away from the inn. “Poison is the weapon of someone who cannot or will not face his enemy, man on man. That is my opinion. In court, there are enough cokenays dressed in multi-colored robes that would use it, but I know none such here. A woman might though. Have you heard any rumors?”